Homecoming
by kepulver
Summary: [G1] Two stories focusing around the Combaticons' return to Cybertron after the events in Revenge of Bruticus
1. Homecoming

**Author's Notes:** Takes place sometime after Revenge of Bruticus, canon-wise and some time after _Payback_ in my ficverse's fanon.

**Homecoming:**

All Blast Off's instincts cried out against the idea of going down the alleyway. Strategically, it was a nightmare: a near dead-end, broken only by the heavy, vault-like door at the end. The sides were sheer walls and half a dozen rubbish heaps, each large enough to provide a perfect ambush spot. And if all that weren't bad enough, it was also so narrow that they could only pass through in a single-file, shoot-us-down-like-drones fashion.

The rest of his brothers were equally wary. Swindle and Vortex fidgeted nervously, each one shifting position and staring at the alleyway as if to find some magical safe passage. Likewise, Onslaught kept studying the alleyway as if it were a campaign map. Brawl stood back, arms crossed over his chest as he revved his engines as he waited with uncharacteristic patience.

Finally, Blast Off broke the silence.

"We've only got five shifts worth of leave," he said. "We've wasted two of them finding this place and I'm not about to waste the other three watching the four of you twitter about like cleaning drones in a spotless room. _I'm_ going down there and getting a drink -- and then I'm going to have someone wipe my fuel tank clean!"

With that, Blast Off started forward.

"Wait!" Onslaught reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

Blast Off turned, optics bright. "I've _been_ waiting, Onslaught," he said, pulling his shoulder free. "You four have been whining about this tacky little hole in the wall ever since we came off the spacebridge. You wanted to find it, we've found it and I'm going in."

The others hesitated, looking everywhere but at Blast Off. He snorted, turning away from them again. "I never thought I'd see the day when Combaticons were afraid of a bar."

That did it. If he'd had a mouth, Blast Off would have considered smiling at his brothers' outraged squawks.

"We're not scared!" Swindle, Vortex and Brawl chorused angrily.

"Apprehensive, perhaps," Onslaught said, evenly. "But you have to admit we've cause to be."

Blast Off looked upward, toward the ever-black skies of Cybertron, then nodded curtly. Onslaught was right -- they'd known that time had passed while they were imprisoned, but somehow the difference hadn't seemed so great during their time on Earth.

But, Cybertron had shown them the difference between knowing something and experiencing it. Ever since their arrival, the changes had been rubbed in their faces. Old comrades were dead, missing or simply unwilling to be seen with allegedly reformed traitors like them. Familiar landmarks were little more than heaps of rubble. Entire cities were gone, blasted off the map during battles they'd slept through.

Only Oiler's, out of all their old haunts, seemed to still remain. It had become a symbol to his brothers. If Oiler's was still standing, their past wasn't entirely gone.

The problem, Blast Off knew, was that there was very good chance that Oiler's was gone, obliterated in one nameless battle or another. Not going in meant not having to face the likely and horrible truth. Uncertainty at least let them have the security of doubt.

Blast Off turned, looking back at his brothers. For a moment, he considered allowing them their illusions, of letting them wrap themselves in self-delusion and comfort themselves with possibilities.

He turned, disgusted with himself for even considering such an outcome. He started down the alley, taking long purposeful strides. "Wimps," he said, loud enough to make the word echo in the narrow space.

He was three steps away from the heavy, vault-like door when he heard the sounds of four sets of footsteps approaching rapidly behind him.


	2. Reunion

**Author's Note:** Takes place shortly after "Exploring Combaticons"; Duskwing is Dragoness Eclectic's fancharacter (based off Wayward's "Stupidity in Blue" picture) and is used with her permission.

**Reunion**

Duskwing turned as the door opened and five mechs entered the bar. Behind him, Oiler continued stacking cubes, seemingly uninterested in the newcomers.

Duskwing, on the other hand, watched them with interest. They were the first patrons he'd seen since he'd drifted into the bar nearly five shifts before and they were bound to be more interesting than Oiler was.

Then again, drying paint was more interesting than Oiler was.

"There, see?" said one of the mechs. "The bar is still here, in all its tawdry glory. Ease your fevered minds, my brothers; Oiler's still exists, all is right with the universe."

"Shut up, Blast Off," chorused three of the other mechs, though they sounded more distracted than angry.

Blast Off snorted and turned to stalk over toward the bar, leaning against the portion where Duskwing was currently standing. His movement seemed to be the goad necessary to make the others split up and move around the bar.

If it wasn't for the clanking of their feet on the floor as they moved with almost reverential slowness around the bar, Duskwing would almost have suspected them of being ghosts as well. They certainly had a haunted look about them. A teal and olive mech, with the look of a missile carrier about him, came to stand beside Blast Off.

"Clever trick," the missile carrier said, voice low.

"No trick to it," Blast Off said. "Simple Combaticon psychology. One well-placed 'wimps' and you lot will do nearly anything to prove it's not true. You really should keep that in mind, Onslaught. Infinitely useful."

Onslaught chuckled. "I will."

"Combaticons?" Duskwing said, looking Onslaught and Blast Off over for a moment. "Oh yeah! Combaticons! Oh man, no wonder you guys are acting like ghosts! Okay, so that makes this just after the Ark was reawakened and...ooh..." Duskwing shuddered. "And right around the time I got sculpted."

The two Combaticons gave no sign that they'd heard him, possibly because of an outburst from the corner. Duskwing turned with them, glad of the distraction it offered from his own memories of the past-turned-present.

"Ons! Guys!" yelled a yellow and purple mech. "I found it! I found Witness's table! It's still got his carvings in it! 'Here sits Witness, servant of Primus and lover of good energon; Primus can be found here, at least.' We were here the night he carved that!"

"I don't get it," said a grey and pink heliformer who Duskwing realized was probably Vortex.

"He's saying Oiler's doesn't serve good energon, duh," said the yellow and purple one. "C'mon, 'Tex, use your head for something other than a place to store your optics."

"Cram it, Swindle," Vortex said. "I _mean_ I never thought the energon here was so bad."

"That is because you have the gustological sensors of a trash compactor," said Blast Off. "You wouldn't know good tasting energon if it blew up in your face."

"An' you're a snob," said Vortex, cheerfully. "Right Brawl?"

The big green tankformer turned. "Whatever; I found that spot where Pressgang knocked me into the wall! Dent's still here an' everything! Now _that_ was a fight."

Oiler leaned heavily against the bar, making the whole thing creak as she pressed her weight against it. "Can I help you boys with something or you all from the historical society?"

"C'mon, Oiler," said Swindle -- or at least Duskwing was pretty sure the yellow and purple one was Swindle -- stepping up to the bar, beside Onslaught and Blast Off. He looked beseechingly up at her. "You know who we are, right?"

Duskwing slipped closer, moving to where he could see Oiler and the Combaticons. For a moment, he was tempted to slide into Oiler, to find out what she knew, but that would have spoiled the surprise. Not to mention, it hurt like the Smelting Pits.

"You have some familiar names," Oiler said. "And you know some folks who're known to me --but the mechs I'm thinking of are supposed to be dead."

A shudder ran through Swindle and then seemed to jump to the others. Duskwing perked up -- coming back from the dead was a neat trick. If they could manage it, maybe they could teach him.

"Yeah, well, sometimes rumors get exaggerated," said Swindle. "There's being dead and then there's being i _dead /i ."_

"Which were you?" Duskwing asked, only to be ignored again.

"The Combaticons were executed," Oiler said. "They went into Room 217. Nobody comes out of Room 217."

"We didn't exactly have a choice in the matter," said Onslaught.

Blast Off picked up the explanation. "We were, you'll pardon the pun, press ganged into service once more."

"Starscream stole us," said Vortex, moving up closer to the bar. "He took us to Earth and gave us new bodies. Things get kinda complicated after that, but it's us Oiler. We're back, you remember us, don't you?"

Duskwing waited for Oiler's answer, his expression almost as eager and hopeful as those of the Combaticons. Sure, they weren't ghosts in the literal sense that he was but he could feel a certain kinship with them. Coming back from the dead was hard enough; coming back and having nobody recognize you? He shivered in horror at the idea. At least he had a sculpture to remind people of who he'd been.

"You boys were executed ownin' me money," Oiler said, setting five cubes up in a line on the bar top. "You think I'm really going to forget _that _ just 'cause you went and got rebuilt?"

The Combaticons as a group relaxed as Oiler grinned at them. "Slag," she said. "Some of us are still laughin' about you five 'taking over Cybertron' a couple quarters ago. You boys do realize that you only ruled over about five square blocks, right?"

"Indeed," said Onslaught. "We were -- overzealous in our estimations of success but you have to admit, what we had, we held."

Oiler shook her head. "I'll give you boys that," she said, reaching under the bar for a fuel nozzle. "Take it you five want your usual?"

That, Duskwing noted, perked the Combaticons up, even more than Oiler recognizing them.

"You still got hushtexes on the menu?" Swindle asked as Vortex shouted "I want a magenta cube!" over Brawl's demands for "a double, no triple!" and Onslaught simply nodded while Blast Off sighed resignedly and asked for "something small."


End file.
